


The Altar of the Fox

by emanthony



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emanthony/pseuds/emanthony
Summary: In a world currently facing an industrial revolution and a cultural shift away from long-standing religions, Cam is a young man with an extraordinary gift to see the animal gods of old. He grows up in a rural mountain village alongside a fox-god named Hara and Hara's priest, Lin.----“I just mean, foxes are very witty. They’re pranksters, you know? Wolves obviously have their own issues, but I’d take that over the sneaky shit foxes get up to. They can certainly conjure up insult like that.” He snapped his fingers.Sneaky shit? I felt my hackles rise a bit—Hara was nothing but gentle, kind, and patient. “I love the fox's charm,” I said simply.“How lucky they are to have you,” said the Wolf Goddess. She patted my cheek.I should have noticed that first red flag.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	The Altar of the Fox

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This was a once-published work and I finally got the rights back! I've decided to go ahead and post it here rather than republishing it myself, since it's an oooold piece (from 2014! Before writing fanfic was a twinkle in my eye!). I apologize for anything that seems weird or off. I was but a wee babe at the time of writing. :)

Where I live in the rainy mountains, there are villages protected by the animal gods of old. Every day more and more worshippers leave the rural mountainside for cities, whisked away on coal-burning trains weaving through the mountainside, around old homes and shops and altars of the gods. More and more often, the altars were left abandoned, with no one left that believed in their power, or in the animal gods.

But I believed. I never had a choice. I was completely and unfortunately devoted to the fox god of our village—Hara.

The first time I saw him, I was a toddler wandering out of the shops with my mother. I saw Hara and tugged my mother's skirt and said, "Mama, look." He glowed white, a figure with the most beautiful long tawny hair.

Hara froze in place with no small amount of shock at being seen. Mother, who couldn't see Hara—or any god, for that matter—just huffed and puffed and dragged me along home. It wasn't until years later that I learned I was special and to most people, Hara existed only in their prayers. _Priests_ were typically the only mortals that could see gods—born and raised within their own small families and trained from birth. I was no priest, but I could see the gods as clear as any.

When I finally could go about the village on my own, I'd leave school and run to Hara's altar, panting and out of breath, and he would meet me there. Quiet and smiling. I was special, and he treated me as such. It was remarkable, growing up under the adoration of someone so strong.

"Are you going to help me or are you just going to sit there and stare at my god?" Lin barked, snapping me out of my childish fantasy. He was Hara's priest, a grown man that had been working at the altar all his life. He didn't greatly appreciate his routines being ruined by a nosy kid. "At the very least you could do something useful. Collect the fallen leaves. Put them in this bag. Then go home! You might be able to see Hara, but you are no priest, kid. This isn’t the place for you."

My little childish hands were clumsy but I did it with fervor, determined to prove I could be at Hara’s side, priest or not. I returned day after day until fall changed into winter into spring and into rainy summers. Years and years passed where I would help at the altar after school and on weekends, basking in the presence of Hara and learning many other important things from Lin. He taught me how to tie knots, how to cook, ways to survive in the wild. He didn't like me as much as Hara liked me, but he seemed to grow accustomed in any case. There were times when he didn’t even make me help with chores and I got to quietly eat meals with them both, seated at their antique dining table, perfectly content.

I resented Lin for being Hara's priest, and for being so hard on me, but I also loved him for helping teach me everything I needed to know about running the altar of a god. Resentment and appreciation were odd bedfellows for a growing boy.

Hara was quiet but I would hang onto every rare word, and one conversation that would stand out in my mind for my whole life happened when I was seventeen. I was taller than him, finally, but I still felt dwarfed by his beauty and his words as he asked, "What will you do when you finish school next year, Cam?" He sat back in the dining chair, smiling in satisfaction from our meal.

I collected the plates from the table and glanced from Hara to Lin. The priest had this knowing half-smile on his face.

“Most of my graduating class is going to go to the city,” I said. “There are a lot of jobs out there, now. Factories opening up. Shops hiring. Some want to try their hand at business, too. I’m going to try to get an acceptance to the university in Sequin, I think.”

I looked back to Hara and he pressed on, “What will you study?”

I could only meet that warm stare for so long. I looked down at the plates and used a fork to scrape the gunk off one onto the other. “Mother thinks I should study English. I could be a writer like her.”

“And what about you?” Hara pressed on. “What do you want to study?”

I slowly stacked the plates before looking up again. “Religion, I think.”

Hara smiled. "That sounds wonderful, Cam."

It wasn’t long after that my plans came to fruition and I found myself at university, far away from my home and from Hara. Nevertheless, my life remained perfectly woven around the tapestry of the gods, and I spent all four years of my time at school learning religion, the origin of myth, the purpose of worship, and philosophies behind it all. I felt rather mischievous in every class I took. They all discussed theory. I lived the reality. I didn’t dare mention that, though. I didn’t dare mention that I could see gods and that I knew one personally. That I loved one, personally.

Because I did love him, I came to realize. Being out in the world, in the cities that had these wide paved streets, and enormous buildings that climbed the sky, I figured out plenty of truths. First, that I wanted Hara for my own. When I kissed someone for the first time, it was his face I saw. When I was asked if I had a special someone back home, it was his name that I said.

It was, perhaps, an obsession. And an unreasonable one at that.

Hara and Lin shared a room. They shared a bed. They didn't necessarily show affection when I was around, but I knew. I loved Hara. Hara loved Lin.

And foxes mate for life.

I was young and stubborn, though, and I knew was meant to be there, at the altar of the fox. Lin or not. I wasn’t born into priesthood like Lin, but I was born connected to that place through some form of magic, or religion, or something. The altar of the fox was my destiny.

* * *

I returned. After four years away at school. I returned.

Lin went gray in the four years I was gone. He wore his round glasses more often than not, too, and he had an air of patience that had been entirely lacking before. I’d grown even taller than him and when I reached out to hug him, it felt very different. 

Hara grinned when he petted my face. “You’re so tall, Cam.”

“There’s a lot of food in the city,” I explained, “I made up for lost time growing up, I think.”

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Lin said.

Hara stepped back and Lin snaked an arm around his middle, so they were fitted side by side. I felt my face grow warm, because I understood the gesture better, having seen—and experienced—that romance, while in the city.

“I want to become a priest,” I blurted. I looked at Hara, searching for a hint of disapproval or disappointment or maybe even happiness. I got only the rounding of his eyes.

“A priest?” Lin asked.

“I’ve known,” I said. “I mean, I’ve known my entire life.” When neither of them responded, I felt my heart fall. I stepped forward, wringing my hands together. “I can see Hara. I can _see_ you. It’s a gift. I can’t ignore it. I won’t. I wasn’t born a priest, but I am one anyway. Aren’t I?”

The silence stretched and I felt my insides begin to melt in shame. Hara finally broke the quiet, stepping forward, socked feet sliding quietly on the hardwoods of the altar. He placed quiet, humming hands on my face and said, “The gods would be very lucky to have you.”

The relief I felt nearly toppled me. Lin grumbled something about sending a message as he walked from the room.

* * *

“How the hell are you going to make any money?” Mom asked. She held a cigarette in one hand, a pen in the other, and sat propped up against her writing desk by a fountain of pillows. 

“Fox gods are gods of wealth,” I said. “They want for nothing. Not that it matters—because I don’t want to do it for income. I want to do it because it’s my destiny.”

She exhaled smoke from her nostrils. Her eyes, gray like mine, were narrowed. 

“Mother, I can see them. Am I supposed to ignore that?”

“Sure!” She pointed at me with the pen, “Sure you are. You have no idea how lucky you are—a boy like you, living in this day and age. You could be anything. You could do anything. I’ve worked endlessly to make sure you could have anything. And what you choose is to stay in some sad little hut in the woods with an invisible best friend? What about my grandchildren?”

My mother had me as a teenager herself, and the idea of her being called granny actually made me grin. “Priests can have children.”

“Yeah, but they won’t if they’re too busy shacking up with their god.” She made a face. “I know Lin. I know what he does.”

I covered my face with both hands. 

“Cam,” Mom said, “You aren’t going to _be_ with Hara.”

I lowered my hands. “I know that.”

“I know how you—” Her pen moved in the air, writing the word, “—feel. About him. I don’t think this is going to give you what you want.”

“I told you already, Mother. This is my destiny.”

She sighed, took a drag off her cigarette, and tucked a blackish lock of hair behind her ear. “Alright, kiddo. But I warned you.”

Gods, I should have listened.

* * *

Speaking of gods—they really know how to party. 

Indoctrinating into priesthood was terribly fun. Animal gods and their priests came to our mountain from all over the range, some even as far south as where the desert lands began. We had foxes sitting at the same table as rats and bobcats and wolves and eagles. There wasn’t a moment of quiet, as everyone wanted to know my story and how I got my gift. 

“Perhaps you’re the illegitimate son of another priest,” someone suggested. 

“I’ve met my father,” I said, “And trust me…he is no holy man.”

The table laughed. I watched Hara smile and chat throughout the night and felt high on acceptance and love. This was where I was meant to be.

There were a few priests my age, too, which made things even more comfortable. 

“You got to live in the city?” one of them asked—priest of a wolf god. “No way.”

“I studied religion, yeah.” My attention wandered back to Lin and Hara seated at the end of one table, sharing a single glass of wine.

“Obviously you’ll be a fox priest,” the wolf priest said. “You clearly have an affinity. Heavens know why…”

His god, a silver-haired girl, tugged his ear hard for the remark. “Shh!” 

The priest rubbed his ear, sighing. “I just mean, foxes are very witty. They’re pranksters, you know? Wolves obviously have their own issues—” the wolf god rolled her eyes, “—but I’d take that over the sneaky shit foxes get up to. They can certainly conjure up insult like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Sneaky shit? I felt my hackles rise a bit—Hara was nothing but gentle, kind, and patient. “I love the fox's charm,” I said simply. 

“How lucky they are to have you,” said the Wolf Goddess. She patted my cheek and the pair walked away.

I should have noticed that first red flag.

The wine and beer continued to flow and some of the gods got it in their minds to have a magical competition. Drunk but enamored by the displays, I fell nearly flat-out on my table as I watched the controlled flames, fireworks, and illusions. Hara dazzled the crowd by clapping once, a booming sound, and causing a waterfall of golden coins to fall from the palms of his hands. 

“Let’s have the mortals compete,” someone suggested.

Hara jumped, giddy, and spun around to face me and Lin on the other side of the room. 

“I’m too old for that,” Lin said, gesturing with wine in his hand. “Make the kid do it.”

“Come on,” Hara called to me, “Come here, Cam.”

I slid out of my seat, nearly toppling over, and went to his side. Hara reached up and clapped my face with both hands. 

“Drinking competition!” Hara then called out. 

“Oh, you’ll regret this,” said the Rabbit God. “Go win us some more fox cash, Tarin.” Her priest, a brawny brown-skinned man wearing all white, moved up front. 

“Uh,” I leaned over to Hara, “I’m not sure about this.”

Hara winked. I would have jumped off the mountain for that wink.

“Here we go!” I called out. The line of humans all had beer-in-hand. Having done this in university, I knew I’d have a little bit of an advantage. “Ready? Chug!”

It wasn’t too much longer after when darkness took over my mind. I could remember only faint blinkings of Hara. Touching my face. Pulling back my hair. Laughing as I puked. Placing me in bed. Kissing Lin in the doorway as they left me alone in the spare room of their altar home. 

* * *

Working at the altar was not much different from my childhood. It was summer and very hot, so we didn’t do much outside—unless worshippers came to pray. Lin would meet them on the steps outside. Sometimes Hara would join. Sometimes I got to do it alone, too. I didn’t love wearing a priest’s heavy golden robe. More often than not, I felt like a child playing dress up. 

Late one hot and humid morning, I woke with a warning, ominous chill. 

The altar was very quiet, but something screamed in my head. A warning from the higher plane. I rushed to pull on a shirt and shorts before toppling out the front door. 

Cicadas hissed overhead and sunlight dappled through the trees. I spun, looking out into the forest, baffled and afraid by this warning in my head. I opened my mouth, “Har—”

A shriek cut through the bark and leaves of the trees so clearly it might as well have been an axe. It was the cry of some bird.

I ran until I reached Hara and a god I did not recognize holding Lin by the throat. I froze, uncertain as to what to do. The unfamiliar god’s eyes flitted over to me and they were a vivid yellow. I felt my hair stand on end, and I knew in that instant something terrible would happen. I stepped forward—

The God’s claws sank into Lin’s neck like clay, rather than flesh, and ripped his throat from his body. Lin’s hands scrambled up to the wound for only a moment before his body sank, gone, dead. He dropped to the forest floor, crumbled in a bloodied heap among the roots.

Hara moved like lightning and struck like it, too, but the other god had been prepared, and evaded the attack easily. He reached out with a hand covered in Lin’s blood and slid it down Hara’s cheek before vanishing. Just like that. Gone.

I was already at Lin’s side, having turned him over, but there was nothing—he was gone, soulless. It was the first time I’d ever seen a dead person and it hurt, not only because it was Lin, but because the gaping void where his soul belonged pulled me in. Panic rushed into me as I placed hands futilely on Lin’s throat to stop the bleeding—but there was nothing to press, nothing to hold. 

“What have you done?” Hara said, collapsing beside me. “What have you done?”

I looked to him through tear-streaked eyes, breathing uneven. “Hara?”

He wasn’t talking to me. I don’t think he was even talking to Lin. He was speaking, in futile, to the attacking god. “What have you done?” A tear cut his blood-stained cheek and fell onto Lin. “What have you done?”

Hara shook. 

“I can’t hear him anymore. I can’t hear him,” Hara gasped. “Lin.” He leaned in and screamed, “Lin!” Hands, trembling, grabbed either side of Lin’s face. “Lin! Lin!”

When learning the ways of priesthood, I was taught how to help a god through distress and anguish. They’re beings from a place of very little pain, Lin explained, and they cannot fathom what it’s like to really hurt emotionally. It was best to comfort them physically.

I wrapped my arms around Hara, and he continued to scream Lin’s name into my chest. I held on for dear life, whispering kindnesses into the top of his head, rocking him gently. “He’s still there,” I told Hara, whispering, “He’s just not where you can see. You know. He’s there in the higher realm.”

Hara cried quietly now. “I’ve always been connected to him,” he said.

“You will be again,” I said, “I promise.”

* * *

Hara was quiet before, but his silence was absolutely endless once Lin was gone. I’d cook, but he’d never eat—not that he needed to. Eating was a kind of luxury for the gods. Something they could do for pleasure.

Hara didn’t seem very interested in pleasure.

He seemed interested only in the mirror he held that allowed him to see into the higher plane. He could see Lin’s soul there, sometimes, if luck was with him. Hara wept in relief the first time, and continued to cry with every look. It wasn’t all sadness—if Hara could see Lin there, it meant their bond was not broken. 

It meant Hara could return to the higher plane to be with Lin again. Love was one of the few powers strong enough to allow a god to return to their home in the heavens. But Hara couldn’t do it, not while still serving the village as he did. And especially not with a murderous, vengeful god on the loose.

"Why?" I asked.

"Madness," Hara croaked. "Some gods, they go mad."

Weeks after the funeral, after five days of continuous rain, I woke up to see Hara through my window, standing perfectly still in the dead of night. I pulled on pants and a raincoat and went out to him. He stood staring into the blackness of the trees, his gold robe painted onto his skin from the rain, his hair slick and wrapped around his face in a golden-pale halo. 

I stood next to him for a little while, letting the rain fall over the plastic of my coat. Finally, I stepped in front of him. “Hara.”

His stare slowly pulled into focus until he saw me. He spoke for the first time in a while, tilting his head back to look at my face. “Cam. What a handsome boy you are.” Rainwater dribbled down his face and he blinked it from his vision. 

My heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t speak, completely enchanted by Hara’s wet face and quiet words.

He leaned up, a hand sliding up my neck and into my hair, and guided me down until we kissed. I didn’t move at first.

His tongue touched mine and it was like someone lit a firecracker in my gut. I pushed him back until he pressed against the house. He moaned, hands gripping the slick wet material of my coat, and my brain chanted for more. 

I loved him—I loved him so much—I always had—

But—

I fought with myself for weeks after we buried Lin, crying alone in the bath at night, or while trying to fall asleep. I felt lost. Torn. I loved Lin too. But there was this part of me—this sick part of me—that was glad he was gone because it meant _I_ would be Hara’s priest. Hara was all I ever wanted. The guilt gnawed on my mind, choked me when I ate, punched me when I least expected it. I was glad Lin was gone because I was in love with Hara.

“Handsome Cam,” Hara panted, cording his hands through my much shorter hair, sliding his legs up, straddling me, “Cam.”

I kissed him. I didn’t want to stop. But every time he said my name…

His hand slid down my cheek, fingers ghosting across my lips. “Cam.”

I jerked away. The guilt crushed me. It doused the firecracker in my belly, dried out my mouth, made my hands go numb.

Hara slowly righted himself. It stopped raining, but we were both sopping wet. The quiet raindrops that fell from our clothes were the only sound at this time of night. Hara covered his face with both hands and slowly sank to his knees. 

I kneeled before him and stroked his long wet hair. “You should go to him.”

“I cannot leave the village,” Hara said, having clearly thought about this already. “I cannot leave the village defenseless against the god that killed Lin. I couldn’t leave you. He’ll kill more. He’ll curse us.”

“I think you should go to him anyway, Hara. The village will survive. I will, too.”

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” Hara croaked.

I knew that sentiment so well. I wanted this. I wanted to be a priest, to live among the animal gods of old, to listen to the prayers of worshippers, to live in the altar, to be at Hara’s side.

But I had no idea only two months into my priesthood I would be dealing with the death of my mentor, the guilt of wanting my fox god for my own, and the threat of some other strange god who wanted to kill me and destroy my village.

Hara came first. Hara always came first. It was my duty to serve him, to tend to his happiness, and I felt torn in two by the sense of duty and my unrelenting devotion. But one side won out, and I said, “Go to him.”

I wanted nothing more than for him to stay and to love me, but—

“Please.”

Hara wiped his face with a damp sleeve and nodded. “I’ll go in the morning.”

And suddenly my life was devoid of meaning. 

Serving the altar of the fox without him there felt like holding a candle with no flame.

A few hours passed and I watched, numb, as this Fox God I loved so much packed his most valuable things into a single bag. He was leaving me with a house, and the altar, and everything—but it felt like I was losing it all.

The sky began to lighten and I followed Hara outside, up the mountain path, and to the summit where he would ascend. It wasn't the highest peak of the mountain, but it was the closest to our altar, and there was a magic there that connected it to the higher plane. Hara walked into the sunrise when we were above the canopy of trees. It turned him a brilliant gold. 

“Hara,” I said, taking one step after him, “Hara, wait. Can you tell me anything more? _Why_ did that god kill Lin?”

Slowly, he turned back to me. I could barely make out his features among the brilliance of the morning sun. “He wasn’t invited to your indoctrination.”

“My indoct—” I shook my head, the news gripping my heart in a vice. “Who is he?”

“The Owl God,” Hara answered. “The altars of the owl and the fox have always been at odds. He felt especially slighted by Lin. He'd been going mad for years, I think, and our altar—our family—it made things worse.” 

I pressed a hand over my heart. I'd gotten Lin killed. Me. I insisted on becoming a priest and my choice killed Lin— “Hara, wait. No, wait—”

But Hara continued forward until there was only light. The moment passed and the sun rose into the sky as morning progressed, and Hara was gone.

* * *

Sickness spread in the village. I did everything Lin taught me to—passed on prayers into the ether, lit candles and incense to clear the air of sadness, gave reassuring words to the worshippers. But there was no god at the altar and it felt like a joke. I went through the motions knowing it made no difference, not now that the magic of the altar was gone.

I also knew the sickness was no normal flu—the Owl God spread a curse from house to house. He planned to wipe out my home and I was defenseless to stop him. 

After one long day tending to sick families, I walked home among the falling leaves of early autumn as the sun set. I lowered my head when I made it to the altar grounds and started up the steps, only to freeze at the sight of a shadow that didn’t belong to me. 

Slowly I lifted my head, fearing the worst.

A god I had never seen stood there before me.

He was as tall as me, with wheat-colored hair tied back into a high tight ponytail—only emphasizing his angular face and black eyes. He stared down at me from the top step of the altar entrance, arms crossed over a white silk robe. 

“You?” he said, voice airy like a bell.

I swallowed and gripped the lapels of the gray overcoat I wore. “Who are you?”

“Hara is such a liar,” he whined, shoulders dropping.

“Hara…” the word left my lips like a prayer. “You’ve seen Hara? How is he? Where is he? Did—did he find Lin?”

The look of disgust on the god’s face startled me and I took a step back. 

“Who are you?” I tried again.

The god uncrossed his arms and opened them in a great sweeping motion over himself. “My name is Em, and I'm your new god.”

Of course. He was a fox. I could feel it, my innate magic recognizing his own. “Did Hara—”

“Stop,” Em barked, stepping down the steps, approaching me. “Stop saying his name like that—stop saying his name at all.”

My mouth shut with an audible click.

“You are my priest now, aren’t you? So now you say Em. Em.” He reached out and placed a hand under my chin, tilting my head back and forth, examining me. “Go on.”

“Em,” I replied dutifully. “Thank you for coming.” Em barked in laughter, stepping back.

“Huh. We don’t usually come here, do we? From the higher realm. It’s better up there. This place is...” He looked around, sniffed, and sneezed. Loudly. "It's certainly well-used."

It was true that he was a rare sight; the gods that protected villages and lived at altars on the mortal realm only did so out of a very rare sense of duty, or because they were born on mortal ground. Em did not have an air of duty and was certainly no newborn. “Then why are you here?”

He met my stare for a minute. The sunglow of his skin and the coppery tones of his hair made him seem strikingly gold in the setting sun of the day.

And then he got a pinched look and stuck out his tongue as he mocked, “Hara.” His cheeks puffed. “Hara asked me.”

“So you spoke to him,” I said.

“He said you were just a _boy_. I looked forward to saving some small child from a life of despair—” He gestured up and down at me. “But you're a man. Look at you. You’re as tall as me. Perhaps an inch smaller. And you have stubble on your face.” I reached up and rubbed my five o’clock shadow. I didn’t tend to myself very well lately, not after Hara left. “ _And_ you smell.”

“I—I do not.”

“You smell like a mortal,” Em clarified, looking down his nose at me. "I was told priests didn't stink as bad."

The differences between Hara and Em were astonishing. Em said more in the span of a minute than Hara said in basically my entire life. And Hara never, ever, looked at me like this—with pointed disgust.

This wasn’t what I wanted, either, but I held my tongue. 

"Let me show you our home," I said, instead.

Days later, an elderly man in the village died from the flu. I attended his wake in the evening as his family gathered—half of whom were sick still. I said a prayer. I held their hands. I promised them the best. I knew I had to talk to Em about this that very night. After dinner.

But Em wasn’t interested in their plight.

“The Owl God is going to kill this village,” I said. “If you don’t do something, there will be no one to worship at your altar.”

“Oh and how sad that will be,” Em bit out, “I won’t have people pleading me for handouts day in and day out. Let the mortals work it out among themselves.”

“It’s not a mortal problem!” I snapped. “The Owl God is cursing the homes in our village! He’s going to kill everyone! This is your job!”

“Eh.” Em shrugged. 

“This is what you were sent down here to do, Em!” I slapped my hands against the top of the dining table. The dishes from dinner rattled. “This is why Hara sent you!”

“You’re wrong,” Em said, and the indifference in his tone infuriated me. “Hara sent me to babysit _you specifically_. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“You’re lazy—” he yawned, “—you’re slow—” he dragged a fork across his empty plate, “—you’re selfish—” He lifted his upper lip and used a long fingernail to clean the unnaturally sharp canines at the corners of his mouth. "I haven't seen you use your gifts once since you arrived." No magic coins, no fresh water, no sunny days. Things Hara would do, all the time, for his people.

My fury was replaced with disgust. I began to stalk away. “You know what? If you won’t do anything, then I will. I might not have your magic, but I am not helpless.”

“You forgot to clean up the dishes!” Em called out to my retreating back.

“Clean them yourself, you slob,” I hissed, and slammed my bedroom door. 

“How rude,” Em said.

* * *

The altar of the owl was even more rural than the altar of the fox. I had a pack strapped to my back as I climbed onto the train that would take me farther into the mountains where the woods were so dense it seemed like nighttime at any given moment of day. 

As a priest, my powers were rather limited. I could feel the souls in all living things. I could see the gods. I had a natural affinity for the animal of my altar—foxes would often bring me small kills as presents. It was gross, and I loved it. I carried prayers and I could send them to the higher plane with great focus. But perhaps most importantly—I knew what made the gods tick, and I planned to use it entirely to my advantage.

I was going to confront the Owl God.

It took almost an entire day to reach the altar and the sun set by the time I approached the large wooden structure on the edge of a tiny near-barren village. Twigs cracked beneath my boots as I walked up. There was a single flame in one window on the second story of the structure. I didn’t dare walk onto the steps. Instead, I stood at the base of them, and looked up, hands tight on the straps of my backpack.

“Priest of the owl—” I called out, “I need to speak with you.”

I received silence in response. The woods grew steadily quieter.

The Owl God appeared before me, eyes glowing bright yellow in relief to his pale grayish skin.

“I have no priest,” he said.

Uh oh. 

“You’re terribly, terribly brave, coming to my altar.” He stalked forward, down each step carefully, gray robes shifting behind him almost like smoke in wind. I took a step back. “What did you plan? To speak sense into the human that controls me? He’s dead and I’ve been here alone for a decade now, finally able to bask in the peace and the quiet. My altar is how I’ve always wanted it—solitary.”

“I did not come to disturb your peace.” I lowered my head. “I only wanted to ask you to lift your curse from my village and in exchange, I would barter anything you want.”

“You’re very stupid,” the owl replied. “Cocky because you’re a fox, sure. Foxes always think they’re so terribly clever, but none are quite as smart as an owl.”

“I would never think I’m smarter than y—”

“Enough.” The owl lifted his hand. “You came here in an attempt to outsmart me and you have failed. Leave or I will kill you.”

I dropped to my knees, and kept my head bowed. “Please. I have lost everything. Don’t take my village from me, too. I’ll give you anything.” I meant it.

“Certainly not as prideful as a fox,” The owl said. “I’ve only ever had a fox kneel before me once before, and that moment was very intimate.”

I kept my head down.

“Alright, priestling. I’ll make a deal with you.”

I looked up. 

“If your pride truly means so little to you, then I want you to prove it. I want to see your true sacrifice." His gaunt face twitched. "Sacrifice a fox to my owl and no longer will I be able to conjure curses in your village grounds. Do you agree?” After a minute, a smile appeared across his lips, but it didn't brighten his eyes at all.

I was mostly confused as I nodded slowly. “Yes, of course. I agree. Anything. A fox?”

“Yes. A fox.”

He motioned towards a thick hatch of trees. A fox, a tiny red creature, padded out of the woods towards us, moving slowly, ears twitching. It looked to me, curiously, and took another step closer. I attracted foxes to me while out in the woods. It was part of me. Always had been, even before I was a priest. I didn't quite register what the Owl God meant to do. I squinted at it.

“Let me kill this thing,” Its ears flicked back and forth as it looked from the God to me, "And your village will be free."

That was it? One small fox to save my home? "I agree," I said.

The Owl God barked a laugh. He motioned to the sky and another animal came from the woods—an owl. It swooped down and landed on his outstretched arm. The owl's hollow eyes met mine and it blinked as its god stroked the back of its smooth white head. "Very well. Kill it,” he said to the owl. Its gaze turned, sharp, and saw the fox stalking carefully at the tree line. 

It shrieked and darted towards the fox, talons bared.

Oh, I thought distantly, time slowing around me. I see.

The fox screamed in fear as the owl descended upon it. And I saw Lin. Helpless, bloodied, dead—

I scrambled to my feet. “Wait!”

The God’s hand shot out and an invisible force sent me back, until I was pinned to a tree. He said something to me, smile still plastered on his distorted, shadowed features, but I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my own heart racing. I felt tears well up as I fought the power holding me against the tree. 

The little fox dodged another blow from the owl with a yip and spun in a circle to brace for the next hit. The owl struck him head-on and the pair rolled in the leaves, shrieking and hissing. My pulse beat like a drum when I remembered how painful Lin’s death had been. I couldn’t bear to witness murder again.

“No!” I said. “No!”

By sheer strength of will, I broke out of the Owl God’s hold and ran forward, towards the dueling pair. I threw myself over the small wounded fox and the owl turned to strike at me instead. I huddled over the shaking fox and barely registered the blows of the bird on my back and head and arms. I could feel the wetness of my blood, I could smell it, but I felt nothing.

“Please,” I begged.

“Have it your way,” The Owl God said, finally. The owl flew back to his side and he said, “The choice is yours, priestling. The fox dies or else your village is cursed.”

And just like he appeared, he vanished, leaving nothing but the rustling of his owl in his wake.

Quietly, I cried, holding the wounded fox in my arms. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I didn't know what I was thinking, trading your life. It wasn't mine to trade."

The fox didn't reply, breathing shallowly, eyes shut.

I stumbled away, scrambling for home. I waited for the earliest train, bloodied and exhausted and holding the fox in my coat. 

Eventually, hours later, I managed to return home. I placed the little fox on the floor of my room and fetched the first-aid kit from a cabinet. Most of his wounds stopped bleeding, but I wanted to be careful. When I finished, I didn’t have the strength to bandage myself, too. 

“Long day, huh?” I said to the fox. It looked up at me, bandage covering his nose. I rose to fetch myself something to drink and saw Em in the doorway to my bedroom, round-eyed. “Excuse me,” I said, pushing by him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“What do you care? It’s a mortal problem.” 

He grabbed my arm with god-like strength and I winced. Immediately Em released me, startled at my very mortal pain, hand raised in apology. I continued onto the kitchen, fetched a bowl and a glass, and filled them both with water. Em hovered in the hall, his pointed brows pinched tightly in the middle. I walked by him again as I returned to my room. “Cam, what did you do?”

“I saved a fox.” He turned to look at the fox sniffing the corners of the living space, clearly trying to find a nice dark place to rest. When Em turned back to me, I closed the door in his face. I placed the bowl and glass by my bed and collapsed onto the covers facedown. After a minute, I heard my door open. 

I sensed Em kneeling beside my bed, and I looked over to him. I looked into his concerned face, vision half-obscured by my bedcovers. 

“You’re covered in blood,” Em said.

“I was at the altar of the owl.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I went to plead for our village.”

“Suicide,” he exhaled, falling back on his haunches. "I can't believe you."

“No,” I argued, too weak to sit up. “I went to barter. But he wouldn’t listen. He said the curse would be broken if that fox died to his pet owl. I agreed, but I..." I tried to laugh, but sounded like a sob instead. "I couldn't let him die. And now the village is going to die." Quietly, I said, "It's my fault."

Em stared. Silently. The quiet went on for so long that my eyes closed of their own accord and I felt myself slipping into sleep. 

Eventually I felt a warm hand on my face. Em pushed my hair back. When I began to stir, he said, “You can keep sleeping.” I let myself drift back into the space between consciousness and sleep. I felt him roll me over and slide the bloodied shirt from my body. His hands were warm. Supernaturally warm.

I felt my wounds heal—the only magic Em had done since joining the mortal realm.

When he was done, he pulled my blankets up over me and I felt myself sink into unnatural warmth and peace. He stood up, and I said, voice muddled, “You don’t have to go.” But he left anyway.

My exhaustion didn’t let me dwell for long.

* * *

“I don’t know what to do,” the woman said. “She can’t even open her eyes. Please…”

This time it was an infant. A little girl, barely two years old, swollen with a fever in bed, breathing heavily. A death rattle. I leaned over her form, teeth grit, and pressed a hand to her heart. 

I passed every ounce of goodness in me, into her. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but her brow furrowed slightly less when I finished. 

“Do something,” her mother pleaded. “I can’t lose her. Please!”

I reached out and took her shaking hands into my own. “You won’t lose your daughter,” I said. 

“I’m losing faith,” she confessed, and tears rolled down her cheek. “I’m losing faith in the altar of the fox. And it’s—it’s going to kill my child.”

“No,” I reassured, stepping forward and pulling her into a hug. “The fox gods understand.”

“How could they possibly understand?” she choked out.

“Because I am the messenger and my faith has been tested, too.” I looked down at her. She sniffled.

Em’s voice rang out behind me, “So you’re a faithless priest?”

I jumped, jerking away from the woman, and spun around to see him standing there, in the home of this small sick family, wearing a gold robe, hair pulled back, matchstick in hand. He looked truly like a god once again, an ethereal golden glow surrounding his polished form.

I looked at him, dumbstruck. I wanted to ask what he was doing there, why he had come at all. Typically he would be napping in some state of undress, his snores rattling the house.

Em stepped forward and the woman said, “Cam? What is it?” She turned a god-blind gaze over the area I focused on, baffled. “Is everything alright?”

I shot a quick glance to her and then back to Em as I answered, “I don’t know.”

The corner of Em’s mouth quirked up. As he walked by me, he handed me the matchstick and said, “Light the incense.”

I nodded and did as told. The mother sank back, watching quietly, hand pressed to her mouth in awe. To her, the matchstick appeared out of thin air. I lit the incense and I moved to Em’s side looking at him sidelong as he hovered over the sick little girl. “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

“Shh. I’m concentrating.”

I swallowed and watched, holding up the stick of incense as he requested. The smoke wafted over the child, breezing across Em’s face. He blinked and the blackness of his pupils turned white instead. He lifted his hands and swept them across the air. In an instant, the spirit in the room lifted. The child exhaled. 

There was a silence, and then the girl began to breathe. Clearly.

“You did it,” I whispered. Em smirked.

“What—what happened?” the mother asked, stepping forward.

I turned to her. “Your prayers have been answered. Let your daughter sleep. She’ll recover.”

The woman’s tears renewed and she started showering her thanks on me as I packed up. She kissed her child on the face, smiling as the little girl frowned at being fussed over. “Gods,” she said, “I’ll never lose faith again.”

Hope surged in me. I grinned ear to ear as I returned home.

"You helped me," I said to Em.

"I did most of the work, so, really, _you_ helped _me_ ," he replied.

I laughed, in too high of spirits to fight. "Whatever you say, Em." I stepped in front of him, right before the steps to the house, and said, "Thank you. Truly."

He blinked at me a few times, seemingly at a loss for words. Eventually, he shrugged.

This seemed the first tiny spot of joy in my life since Lin died. 

"You're smiling a lot," Em said.

"I guess I am."

Em looked off, lost in thought.

* * *

Em started joining me on my home visits. For the first time since his arrival weeks ago, he didn’t have much to say. He’d sweep in, glowing gold and grinning like the cat that caught the canary, and release the curse from the sick. It only took a week before the village became virtually healed.

A day or so beyond that, during one late autumn afternoon, two worshippers arrived at the steps of the altar. I went out to greet them. 

“I apologize for not being in my priest garb,” I said, wearing the casual linen jumpsuit that I lounged in at home, “I have already changed for the day. How may I help?”

“We came to give our thanks,” the pair said. 

Something warm blossomed in me. “It’s our duty. This village is my home. I wouldn’t let anything happen to it. Would you like to make a wish?”

They nodded and I guided them up the steps and to the large redwood that grew up beside the altar home. It was at this spot, flanked by wooden statues, that worshippers would kneel and ask for gifts. As we approached, I saw Em sitting in the tree above, wearing only loosely tied harem pants; the kind meant to be worn under his robe. I swallowed as we approached.

“Make your wishes here,” I said, avoiding Em’s gaze. “I believe the God of this altar is feeling rather generous.”

I turned away, to leave them to it, and walked back into the altar home. Em leapt from the tree, landing at my heels. He followed behind and I stopped him in the doorway to the home. 

“You’re supposed to be listening to their prayers,” I whispered, looking pointedly at the worshippers.

“I already know what they want, and it’s stupid of them to ask a fox for that.”

“What do they want?”

“A baby.”

“Oh.” That was stupid. The rabbit god was only an hour's hike away, and everyone knew the rabbits were the ones to ask about breeding. “Don’t call our worshippers stupid.”

He smirked.

“Why are you smiling so much? Why have you been helping me?” I was almost afraid to ask; I didn’t want him to stop.

“As far as mortals go, you’re not the worst one,” He said. I felt the redness creep up to my face. I could see his black-eyed stare narrow onto my face and go suggestively warm.

Oh shit. My hackles rose, alarm bells sounding off in my head. “No,” I snapped, holding out a finger, “No. You burned this bridge, Em. You’ve been cruel and lazy. A week of help doesn't fix that. A week of kindness doesn't undo the months of cruelty. You left me to defend the village on my own. A man died because of your negligence. And I won’t forget that because you elect to walk around undressed and smile at me.”

“Ah. I see.” He glared. “You don’t find me as beautiful as Hara.”

I spit out a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “Please! I don’t find you—anything—I haven’t—”

“You find me disappointing, compared to Hara.”

“You’re the one bringing him up—not me.” I spoke of Hara rarely, and on purpose. Em asked me to never say his name and I did the most I could to respect the first order he'd ever given to me, even if I didn't think of him as much of a god. “There is no _you_ versus _him_.” 

“He’s my brother, you know.”

I blinked over to Em. “Your brother?” Realization dawned about his seeming jealousy. “You grew up in his shadow.”

Em threw his hands up into the air. “Hara is my _little_ brother. Gods, why can no one figure that out?” 

I blushed a bit. “I’m sorry.” 

"Oh Hara, he's so noble. Oh Hara, he moved into the mortal realm to help the poor villagers there. Oh Hara, he found true fucking love. Oh Hara, he'll live forever in our higher plane with his perfect white glow." Em's lip curled. "Hara, Hara, Hara."

"I like your golden glow alright," I offered, voice weak. Hara's stark white glow was certainly stunning, but Em's yellowish one was still a sight to behold.

Em glared down his nose at me. “I’ll go put a shirt on, since it bothers you,” he said.

* * *

He still wandered around half-dressed most days. I truly tried not to look. He noticed me not-noticing him and continually upped his antics until I had no choice but to acknowledge his ripped, golden body.

One morning, he was wearing naught but a loincloth belt, fanning himself, laid out across the kitchen table.

"What are you doing?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"Just cooling down," he said, his pert ass framed perfectly by a beam of sun through the kitchen window.

"It's freezing cold outside, Em." The autumn was like that.

"Not for a god, it's not."

"That's not how gods work."

"How do you know how gods work?"

"First of all, I lived with Hara my entire life. Second of all, I studied your kind for four years in academia. Third of all, you've got goosebumps all over your body because you're freezing cold." I threw my hands up. "What is this?"

Em rolled over, and instead of his ass, the swell of his groin was outlined in light instead. "Let foxes do what foxes are want to do," he said, eyes shut.

"I'm going to eat breakfast on the deck," I grumbled, passing by him, to the kitchen, fetching some fruit from a bowl there.

"Suit yourself," Em said. "I'll move over so you can eat here. You just have to ask."

"I'm not in the mood to disinfect the table this early in the morning."

I walked out through the double-door onto our deck. The little fox followed me at my heels and I swore I heard Em's laughter from the other room.

* * *

His antics carried on for weeks, until finally, I broke. I cackled before I could stop myself, slapping a hand to my mouth. When I got my bearings, I wheezed, "Em. My gods. What are you doing now?"

"My clothes are in the wash."

I muffled more laughter behind my hand and Em smiled back at me. He was naked, legs crossed at the knee, in my desk chair. "And you're in my room, at my desk, because—"

"I was doing research." He spun the chair to face the desk and pulled the first book he saw. "This here."

I laughed louder. "You're researching the fictional works of my mother?"

"Sure. Sure. I've said I want to get to know you better." He opened the book and fanned out the pages, feigning curiosity.

"This is ridiculous!"

"What?"

"You just want my attention."

"Well, if you weren't so stingy with it, I wouldn't have to do these things, Cam." He continued to flip the pages of the book. "And besides, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm only in here to do research, and I'm only naked because there are no clean clothes. My priest doesn't do his fair share of laundry."

"Give that to me before you get some god dick all over it," I said, snatching it from him. "You're absolutely absurd. I do plenty of laundry." That wasn't completely true. It was my least favorite chore.

He snickered. 

"But just for this, you will sit there, and I will read you the first chapter."

"Oh?"

"That's right. This really is a good one, you know." I wagged the book in the air. "So get comfortable." Impossible, seeing as he was bare-assed on a hardwood chair.

That being said, for all that it was a ruse to be naked and near me, Em did listen very carefully over the next hour that I read him the story of the Great White Cat.

I really didn't know how much I missed laughter since Lin had gone, but once it came back, it came often, and Em seemed to make it his new mission to hear it every single day.

* * *

A scream woke me. I shot up in my bed, disoriented by the dark. Before I could even climb out from under my covers, another shriek cut the air and I realized it was no scream at all, but the call of an owl.

“No,” I gasped, stumbling from my room and out the front of the altar home. I had only taken one step out the door when Em threw me back into the living space with such force I slid along the hardwoods nearly to my room. I shot a look at Em, who watched me with unnaturally glowing eyes. “No!” I shouted.

“Don’t worry,” Em said. “You know how Hara was good at being beautiful and—I don’t know—doing his hair?” He grinned, suddenly, and the white of his teeth glowed, too. “Well, I’m very good at this.”

He vanished. I heard a loud crack, almost like lightning, and I managed to run back to the front door. When I looked out, I saw black plumes of smoke and fire coming from the redwood of prayer. The Owl God sent it ablaze.

Covering my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt, I walked out and squinted into the darkness. The tree creaked and groaned as the flames grew taller and hotter. The season was terrible for a fire; nothing but dead leaves and dry wood scattered across the forest for miles.

The owl’s cries were disorienting, and I couldn’t see the gods anywhere—I shifted in a circle again and again, but saw nothing until I looked up.

They were in the sky, framed by the edges of the barren autumn trees and backed by thousands of stars. Floating. Em had foxtails, nine of them, and the Owl God cloaked himself in smoking gray wings. 

The Owl struck, but Em evaded with a casual spin, immediately returning the attack. His kick landed hard into the owl’s side. They moved so quickly and hit with such an intense force that I felt it in my bones, reverberating like a drum. It was like a thunderstorm overhead, on one of the clearest nights we experienced all fall.

I took another step toward the village, wanting to warn my people to flee from the fire that was sure to spread. But before I even made it halfway across the yard, the screaming warning I heard the morning of Lin’s death erupted in me again. It was a warning from the higher plane: you're in grave danger.

I turned to face the point my instincts cried towards and a great gray owl burst from the woods with supernatural force and struck me square in the chest, enormous talons sinking squarely towards my heart.

Em wasn’t the target at all; it was me. I crashed to the earth with a gasp.

It shrieked the same cry as the Owl God, infused with his powers. Pain blossomed from the gaping wound and from the back of my head that had struck the rocky earth.

It screamed in my face, rearing back for another blow. And as it dove towards me again the little red fox I saved burst out from the underbrush, claws outstretched, and knocked it away from me, saving me from a killing blow. The pair spun against the ground, rolling again and again, howling and screaming as they fought to pin one another. Gasping, unable to breathe through the pain and panic, I pressed a hand to my chest. I felt the warm blood and remembered Lin’s bloodied body among the leaves. 

My eyes frantically searched for the little fox. It was half the size of the owl and still it dug into the owl's side with all its might, teeth sinking in. The owl cried out and darted into the air again.

I struggled to my feet, desperate to help, but as soon as I managed to get upright, I heard a sickening crunch and the fox’s cut-off scream of pain. The owl snapped his neck in two and I felt the fox’s soul vanish into the ether, coiled in smoke like our beloved redwood.

“No!” I screamed.

The plumes of smoke caught in my throat and I coughed, hunched over. When I collapsed to my knees, I felt an icy hand in my hair. Bleary-eyed, I looked up, and the Owl God stood above me, yellow eyes alight reflecting flames.

He looked less like a god and more like a demon, bleeding sluggishly from the wounds inflicted by Em.

“Let him go,” Em said, standing before us. My gaze moved to him. Backlit by his golden tails and the fire, gold hair floating in the air, he hummed with power. He looked dangerous and strong, bare muscles emphasized by the smoky soot and bleeding cuts along his body.

“I curse your priest, so he may never heal, so illness will take his life,” the Owl God said. I felt the power pulse out of the Owl God and gasped. I was going to die. "I curse your village. I curse you, Fox God, so that you may never feel happiness again."

The atmosphere around the Owl God rippled with his magic.

But the power washed out, away from him, harmless. 

The curse did nothing.

The little fox that saved my life hadn't just saved my life. I sucked in a breath as I realized what had been done.

The fox let himself die to close the bargain the Owl God had proposed all those weeks ago.

“My fox died to your owl,” I whispered to him. "You have no power here."

The fox outwit the owl after all.

Fury and acknowledgment crossed the Owl's face. “No magic, then." He reared a hand back, to pull my throat out like he had done to Lin, but before he could move, a glowing golden rod conjured from magic speared him in the shoulder, knocking him away and pinning him to a tree.

Em approached him slowly with another golden spear raised in hand. 

“No!” I stumbled forward, grabbing Em’s arm and forcing him to drop the weapon. It evaporated before it could hit the ground. “No,” I said. “Please don’t kill him.”

Em, in this new powerful form, had pointed ears atop his head—one flicked with apparent annoyance. “Why?”

“I don’t want anyone else to die.” I turned to the owl, who seemed unmoved by my plea for his life. “I don’t want you to die.”

“I’d rather die than be saddled by the obligations set by some m—”

“No, no obligations,” I interrupted. “I call for a truce.”

“You can’t trust him,” Em hissed. 

I faced the Owl God squarely and winced, pain lancing through me, so I hunched, holding the wound on my chest, one hand still gripping Em's arm in place. “We’re not unlike you, Owl. I wasn’t born a priest. I only had a gift. Em was not born to serve at an altar. He was begged a favor. Neither of us was supposed to be here—just like you weren’t supposed to serve an altar so terribly alone.”

The Owl’s garish face softened, slowly. There was a sense of understanding there. 

“These mountains are yours, too, and you will be invited to any celebration the fox throws. Forever more.”

The Owl God’s jaw ticked, tightening. I swallowed and squeezed Em’s arm, limbs trembling. 

“Please. I don't want him to kill you. I just want peace."

The Owl God raised his head again. “Very well. The altar of the owl concedes. We will fight no more.” The fire ablaze on our tree went out, just like that.

“Oh, thank gods.” I swayed, grip loosening on Em’s arm. “Oh. I think I’m going to pass—” 

Everything went dark.

* * *

Em moved stiffly around me. I laid in bed for days, able only to get up for bathroom breaks and the occasional sad look at the wounded redwood standing in the altar yard. Em did everything else for me; he brought books and food—often half-cooked and half-spoiled. He changed my bandages, too. The magic wound wasn't something he could heal with a touch, though he tried. Every day.

The fact he spent so much time touching me, doting on my pain and injury, only served to emphasize how quiet he became. It only took a day for me to realize I missed his constant smarmy chatter. It only took two more for me to realize his touching me constantly drove an unwelcome desire to touch him back. 

And every time he slid a hand along my chest, I’d watch his face, memorizing the lines of his lashes and the shape of his mouth. He frowned often. The patchwork of stitches across my chest seemed to me like a map, almost, with railroads and rivers and streets crossing this way and that—but Em didn’t share my feelings. He could barely look at it as he applied fresh dry patches every day.

“You’re mad I let him live,” I said, five days into his awkward silence.

Em jerked up from where he was kneeling on my bed. “What? No.”

“You’re mad at me somehow,” I said.

“I’m not.” He wouldn’t look up.

“You won’t even look at me.” Saying the words, speaking the truth—it hurt and my voice shook. “You think less of me.”

He looked up. For the first time in days, he met my stare. “You bled—all over me,” he said.

My stomach sank. “Excuse me my mortality, Em.”

“No, no.” He paced in a circle before sitting at the end of my bed. “It was just that I realized, covered in you, that you are precious to me, and I almost killed you with indifference. I don’t want to do that again.”

“I’m precious to you?”

He huffed, cheeks puffing, and turned to grab the supplies to change my bandage. “Whatever, yeah, so?” He unwrapped the bandage from a cloth casing, and leaned over me to remove the old one.

“Because, as far as mortals go, I’m okay?” It was very hard not to smile, but I kept it down.

“As far as mortals go.”

He pulled the bandage off and looked down at my chest. I could stare only at his face; golden tan, strands of hair fallen from the loose braid he wore. His mouth.

He blinked and our eyes met. I stopped breathing and neither of us moved until I leaned in and kissed him.

He didn’t move, not at first. I cupped his face. My fingers slid into his hair, and that’s when Em seemed to wake. He opened his mouth against mine, and kissed me in a way I’d never been kissed before. I couldn’t breathe because this fire burned all the oxygen from the air. His hands slid up from the bed and coursed my chest, fingers sliding gently among my scars. 

"I'm in love with you," he said.

"Why?"

He only kissed me again, tongue snaking out to meet mine. He couldn't say it in words, I thought. He kissed from my mouth down my neck, to the stitches on my chest, hands gliding down my ribs to my hips and finally to my ass. I shook, head falling back, and I didn’t expect the warm of his mouth on my cock so suddenly but it was there and I cried out. His lips glided down and up again. My legs shook as I gripped the bed and I gasped, “Em.”

He panted out, breath hot and wet against my erection, “I want you.”

I’d never done anything so explicit like this before, not at college, not even in my dreams of Hara. And I didn’t even care. “Please,” I said.

His hands gripped the back of my knees and folded me in half and I suddenly felt so open that I shuddered and had to turn away, face burning. He pressed a thumb to my entrance, growled, and said, “Fuck—”

“Em,” I gasped, “Please, please, please—” My cock dribbled out onto my stomach as he pressed a finger against me. I’d never been this hard; I’d never been this close to coming without being stroked off.

There was jelly included with the bandages to prevent rashes on my unscarred skin. With my knees on his shoulders, Em grabbed it, opened the jar, and coated his fingers. He leaned in close to me, as I panted, and placed a feather-light kiss to my nose. “Can’t look at me?” He said, and I realized I screwed my eyes shut. Slowly, I opened them, and he pressed a finger inside, all at once. I cried out, but he kept my rapt unblinking attention through it. It was hard to breathe while he looked at me like that. His finger moved, pulling back, and forced in again, and I moaned again. He did it again. And added a second. “I could fucking eat you,” He whispered.

“Do it,” I managed, rocking myself back on the fingers spreading me. He sat back, pulling his fingers from me, and stroked his cock with the jelly too. My mouth opened, watching his fingers slide over his shaft, and I shuddered. 

He pressed his cock against my entrance and pushed in, slowly. I swallowed and gasped and threw my head back again, legs shaking. Suddenly Em’s hands were on either side of my face and he pulled me forward, so we were nose to nose, and my eyes watered. Overwhelmed. He slid in hard and I screamed, pain and desire confused and blurred together. He stilled, holding me, and said in a low, even voice, “You are everything to me.”

He pulled back and pushed in again, a little shift, and I cried out again. He began fucking me slowly. Patiently. My vision went double as he moved. My hands untwisted from the covers and slid up his back. “Cam,” He panted.

He fucked me faster and I shuddered. The pain ebbed and the feeling changed—his hands on my face, his stomach against my cock, where I pressed against his dick was all so much more than I ever thought—I began moaning with every thrust. He shifted his hips and hit something in me that made me scream, again. 

He slid his hands from my face to beneath my ribs and sat back and fucked me harder, the slap of our bodies almost as loud as me. He gripped my dick and I did a full body shudder. 

“You’ll make me come,” I managed, torn between pushing back on his cock or into his hand. He stroked me suddenly as hard and fast as he fucked, and I knew I was gone. “Em, please—”

I came hard, hips stuttering, fucking into his hand, ass milking his cock, body arched off the bed. My scream rang in my own ears as I kept coming, on my stomach, and chest.

Em’s pleased growl echoed in the room as he started hammering into me. His hands shifted to my hips and he pulled me back against him again and again and again until he came, flush against me, holding me down. I shook as I felt him come inside, pulsing, thrusting fast and shallow as he worked himself off.

Finally, he stilled. I looked up at him, vision blurred, feeling fucked in the brain as much as in the body. I couldn’t even move. 

He leaned in and kissed me, open-mouthed. I sighed against the gentleness of it. 

He pulled out and an instant later he was wiping me clean. The bandage supplies—even the pot of warm water and the bathing cloths—had been quite handy. He slid a hand down my clean and bandaged chest minutes later, having finally done what he came in here to do originally. 

I slid my hand into his and looked up. He sat beside me, still undressed, glowing with sweat, hair nearly all fallen from his braid. His mouth looked swollen and I wondered if that was from my cock or my kiss and felt fire low in my belly again, already.

He leaned in to kiss me and I laughed.

“What?” Em asked.

“My mother was right. She's never having grandchildren."

"What does that mean?" He squinted.

"It means that I love you too," I said.

He smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter / Tumblr: https://twitter.com/oakantony / https://oakantony.tumblr.com  
> And I have a Discord server if you ever wanna chat or just lurk to keep up-to-date with my writing endeavors: https://discord.gg/s5UHBQz 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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